The Misadventures of a Glory Hound
by Volkihar
Summary: It all started with a horse, a stallion to be exact. Prime breeding stock supposedly descended from Sleipnir himself. Astrild wasn't sure who to blame for her predicament. ...Maven Black-Briar and her god complex, or the idiot rookie that hand delivered them both into an Imperial patrol's waiting arms on a silver platter. Either way, life as she knew it would never be the same.
1. 101 Ways to foul up a Job

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing to do with the Elder Scrolls and am not making any kind of profit from writing this.

**Notes:** This has a lot to do with the companions, but does not follow the actual companions quest line. This first part is the only time you're going to see something follow the game's actual plot on the dime, albeit with a twist. :3 there's dozens of stories like that and I wanted to be more creative.

This is basically a series of oneshots, with each chapter being its own story. They do happen in order, though, and are tired into each other. I'm not even really sure they qualify as oneshots, but rather something slightly less linear than a regular chapter chapter fic.

Anyway, enjoy and please review! I don't have a beta, so please let me know if you see any mistakes. I'd really appreciate it!

The overall rating will most likely go up once I add more to this.

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**Rating:** T

**Summary:** It all started with a horse, a stallion to be exact. Prime breeding stock supposedly descended from Sleipnir himself. She wasn't sure who to blame for her predicament - Maven Black-Briar and her god complex, or the idiot rookie that hand delivered them both into an Imperial patrol's waiting arms on a silver platter.

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**101 Ways to Foul up a Job**

* * *

Astrild was seriously starting to rethink some of the moronic decisions she'd been making lately. Joining Brynjolf's rat hole of a Thieves Guild was one of them. Still, it was good and relatively easy coin. Astrild was raised by some of Skyrim's best hunters and noblest warriors. Stealth was second nature to her, even if her ancestors would roll in their graves to see her using it for thievery instead of to bring honor to the Companions. Only a month after joining up with the Guild, she was recognized as the best pickpocket and burglar they'd had in years. Though, that just meant the jobs got harder and the last few had involved some seriously close scrapes with the city guards.

Regardless, she should have known better than to take this job. Astrild wasn't an idiot. But she wasn't quite sure which would have been stupider, denying a job from Maven Black-Briar, or taking it. Because honestly, she just couldn't tell. Trinkets, coin purses, precious artifacts and jewels galore – those she knew how to properly steal with light, nimble fingers that could pick locks and pockets as easily as they could draw back a bowstring. A horse, not so much. But it couldn't be that hard, right?

Wrong.

To be fair, it wasn't stealing the damn horse that was the hard part. It was what followed.

Astrild was crouched down under the snow-leaden boughs of an ancient pine tree watching the farm before her like a sabre cat stalking its prey. She could see her breath rise before her in hazy clouds. Absently she tugged her hat that her older sister, Aela, had made for her from the head of the first bear she killed down over her ears to keep out some of the chill morning air. She tried not to let her mind wander to Aela. The huntress of the Companions would positively murder her and make a cloak out of her hide if she knew what she was up to now. But Astrild wanted more out of life. She wanted a mansion in Solitude with a handsome Housecarl and the all the wealth to go along with it. Being a warrior of honor in pursuit of glory sounded nice, sure, but it wouldn't get her where she wanted to be. Robbing nobles blind and framing and wealthy merchants for murder, however, was making her quite a living.

Nothing moved on the small farm. Astrild watched in boredom as downy flakes of snow slowly covered their crop of wheat and grain. A hen pecked at the ground nearby in search of a morning snack. A chestnut stallion pawed at the snow blanketed ground near the stables. Frost was his name, according to the lineage papers Maven had given her. He was already equipped with a saddle and reigns. Astrild bit her lip nervously and quickly rolled from under the tree and into an evergreen shrub nearer to the stable. The stallion looked balefully in her direction, but did not move.

There was no one nearby that she could see, even though the horse was equipped to be ridden. Astrild couldn't waste any more time. She bolted from under the bush, and vaulted onto the horse in a series of fluid, almost acrobatic movements.

_A huntress must have feet as quick as her eyes. _She recalled Aela's words from her childhood as she urged the stallion to trot. Her sister had taught her not only how to hunt and track animals, but also how to move with the precision of a practiced predator. The stallion obeyed her without startling in the slightest, so Astrild spurred him into a gallop. She grinned triumphantly and brushed a loose strand of ginger hair out of her face as the farm faded from her view.

Back out on the road to Falkreath where she was supposed to meet Maven's contact and deliver the horse, she allowed herself to relax. Astrild slowed Frost to a trot and shook snow off her standard issue, skin tight leather Thieves Guild armor. Even if it kept the dampness off, she could still feel the chill straight through to her bones. She couldn't wait to reach Falkreath and bunker down in the Dead Man's Drink with a tankard of warm mead and a decent meal.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the arrow aimed at her until it pierced her right shoulder. With an awkward sound somewhere between a grunt and a squeak, she lost her balance and fell off of Frost into a heap on the snow covered ground. Gritting her teeth, she snapped the arrow off near the head that was embedded in her shoulder and cast the shaft aside. Quick as lightning, she pulled a steel arrow from her quiver and nocked it in her old hunting bow that was nearly as old as she was. Her eyes fell on a Nord around her age with ratty clothes and a worn leather cap. He had his bow aimed at her, but she knew from the way he held it that he was a terrible shot and it would miss. He was lucky he had hit her at all, and not Frost's rump. Speaking of Frost, he was quickly getting away.

"Hand over the horse and you don't die!" The Nord shouted, doing his best to intimidate her, but just like the huntress she was, Astrild could practically smell his fear.

"Don't be an idiot." She said and stowed her bow in its sheath on her back before taking off after Frost. He might not have been strong, but he was fast. At least that was what Astrild was thinking when the man abandoned the bow and dove from the bushes to tackle her to the ground.

The scuffle was over in a matter of seconds. It ended with a very battered, albeit scrawny Nord pinned on the frozen ground beneath Astrild's small but muscular form with his own rusty iron dagger pressed against his throat.

"Next time someone tells you not to be an idiot, you better listen." She growled, and glanced over her shoulder. Frost had disappeared into the dense pine forest. Astrild swore under her breath. Now she would have to waste precious time tracking him – if the steadily falling snow didn't fill his hoof prints before she could.

Sensing her distraction, the Nord managed to kick her off of him. Astrild righted herself and readied the dagger, but a strong hand caught her wrist and twisted hard. She cried out in pain and surprise as the weapon was wrenched from her grasp. Astrild only just caught site of the Nord being dragged to his feet by a pair of Imperial soldiers as she too was hauled backwards. But she wasn't going without a fight.

Six Imperials lay dead, staining the snow with blood when their comrades finally managed to subdue Astrild and bind her hands behind her back. She found herself unceremoniously tossed into the back of a wooden carriage with a few burly Stormcloak soldiers. She was vaguely aware that she and the Nord that had tried to take the horse from her were being accused of being Stormcloak scouts.

"No! I swear! I was just trying to steal a horse! I know that's not much better but-!" He rambled desperately. The Stormcloaks with them laughed. One of them whispered under his breath that it would snow in Oblivion before they had such an imbecile for a scout.

"Shut up back there!" The soldier guiding the cart snapped.

"What's your name, kinsman?" Astrild asked with a sigh.

"Lokir. Lokir of Rorikstead." He answered shakily. Astrild grinned at him roguishly and flashed her teeth. She pinned her emerald eyes on him, watching him squirm.

"I'm Astrild, from Whiterun. It was nice you knowing you, Lokir. I don't know where we're going, but I guess Sovngarde is waiting. Though, I can't imagine my life has been glorious enough to get an invitation. Hopefully yours was. You really shouldn't have tried to steal Maven Black-Briar's damn horse." Astrild drawled maliciously. Lokir gasped and passed out cold on the shoulder of the Stormcloak nearest to him. The blonde haired giant of man shoved him off and he fell onto the carriage floor with a thud. There was silence for a moment before Astrild and the Stormcloak soldiers all burst into laughter. They might as well enjoy their last hours.

* * *

Helgen. That was where the carriage was bound. Astrild swallowed nervously past the lump in her throat when one of the Stormcloaks she was with pointed out Tulius, the Imperial general and a Thalmor ambassador. She now knew that Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself had been captured. All hope of making it out of Helgen alive vanished if she was thought to be part of the rebel force. She was as slippery as a snake, but not even an actual snake was going to get past that many armed Imperials without one of them stomping on its head.

When Lokir was told to follow the others to the block, he shouted something about them not being able to kill him and bolted. Astrild winced as an archer took him down with a single well-aimed arrow. She felt a little bad for the would-be thief, and shaken at the realization that she was soon going to follow. Still, she would rather die with some amount of dignity than run from it like a coward. Maybe she'd chosen a different path, but she was still a true Nord at heart and clung to her own unique sense of honor.

Wordlessly, Astrild followed the Imperial captain and joined the Stormcloak prisoners crowding around the block. Nervously, she glanced at the headsman and his axe that was nearly as big as he was. She smiled slightly as the first Stormcloak strutted forward, telling them to get on with it and rudely interrupting the priestess reading them their last rites.

The smile died on her lips when the axe came down, severing the man's head which missed the basket and rolled lifelessly across the ground to a rest near Astrild's feet. She averted her eyes and choked back vomit.

A strange, keening cry from some kind of beast cut through the still morning air. The soldiers and Stormcloaks alike, searched for the source of the sound, but the Imperial captain ignored it. Astrild thought for a moment that she could hear faint voices, a soft chant of some kind drifting in the air. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar.

She must be losing her mind.

Stumbling slightly as she went, Astrild was the next one called. Her whole body shaking, she knelt on the ground before the headsman and nearly passed out when she laid her face in the still-warm blood of the headsman's first victim. She saw him lift the axe and closed her eyes. But the swing never came.

Instead, she was knocked over by an invisible force. When she righted herself and looked, she nearly died of a heart attack instead. A dragon was laying waste to the village. A real fire breathing, black scaled fire-breathing lizard with wings straight out of Skyrim's oldest tales. At that moment, it had an Imperial in his mouth and was flinging him around like a rag doll. Without a second's hesitation, Astrild rolled over onto her feet and made a run for it. She found a jagged rock sticking out of the snow-covered ground behind the smoldering ruins of the inn and used it to slice the rope binding her hands.

The soldiers were too busy uselessly fighting the dragon to pay her any mind – a fact that she used to her advantage. She dodged screaming, panicking civilians and soldiers alike as she made her last bid for freedom. Astrild took the bow and nearly full quiver of arrows off a dead Stormcloak and easily climbed her way over the damaged city wall. She'd never been more thankful for Aela's lessons.

She ran due West into the wilds until she was utterly exhausted.

Somewhere near Falkreath, she took shelter in a hollowed out log and curled into a fetal position as she pondered her next move. Riften was out, Maven and Mercer Frey would be furious at her for mucking up such a simple job so spectacularly. She was also now a wanted woman and knew the Guild would not take the risk of sheltering her. There was always the Dark Brotherhood, she'd done a couple jobs in Riften for them as a favor – but again, they would not harbor a criminal. Either way, she needed to see a healer and get the arrowhead dug out of her shoulder.

Absently, Astrild rubbed her forearm and tried to ignore the dull, stabbing pain. As she did, an idea came to her mind.

The Companions.

She'd refused to join when she came of age, claiming that it wasn't for her. Aela had been furious, but forgave her in time. No one who survived Helgen was likely to remember her face, unless she got caught stealing something. As a Companion, they would only see an honorable Nord Warmaiden worthy of respect and loyalty. Not a petty criminal and occasional assassin.

Astrild hated to admit it, but her path was set.


	2. That went well

As of now, I decided to give up on the one-shot thing and just make this into a chapter fic. Chapters will vary in length, and I'll probably be a little slow to update with this story. (And all of my stories since I'm in the middle of moving. Ugh.)

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**That went well...**

* * *

"There's a job for you whelp, if you want it." Astrild looked up from a book of weapons enchantments she was reading to see Skjor standing over her.

Jorrvaskr wasn't a bad place to live, but she'd have liked a little privacy every now and then instead of having to listen to drunkenly sung lewd songs all night as she tried to sleep. Still, she was getting used to it. Raiding bandit dens and taking care of Aela's usual hunting jobs was decent money. …Not as decent as framing the Black-briar's business rivals for murder, but beggars can't be choosers.

Astrild could swear the scowl Skjor constantly wore was permanently etched on his face. Honestly, she really didn't care much for the older man's elitist personality or distrustful nature. She thought he should at least grow some hair, being bald didn't suit him. Regardless, she had him to thank for being allowed into Jorrvaskr. Her sister, Aela, was off on a job in Markarth and not expected back for a month at the earliest. Skjor, having known her well from being a close friend of Aela's since their childhood, vouched for her when she showed up hoping to join the Companions.

That wasn't saying they got along well. Skjor had his suspicions, and Astrild hers.

It was also Skjor that tested her skill in battle, while some of the other members of the companions watched. They were definitely a motley crew, and she was more than a little surprised to see the Dunmer casually observing the fight from the shadows.

The fight was quick and by no means in Skjor's favor. Granted, she had a little trouble gaining the upper hand at first due to his immense physical strength, but her speed and dexterity had him disarmed and pinned against a well-used archery target within minutes. Astrild had to give him some credit, she wasn't usually panting after a tumble, but he'd definitely given her a run for her money.

"Tell me about this job of yours." Astrild said dully and sat her book aside. She knew the companions didn't really approve of magic in any form, but she wasn't about to let her extensive knowledge of enchanting go to waste, either. No one was making them wield her weapons after all.

"There's a bandit hideout in a cave nearby. White River watch, they're calling it. Just past the Honningbrew Meadery. Vilkas and I will go with you. Prove you are honorable, and you will be officially recognized as a Companion." Skjor drawled, looking as bored as he sounded.

"Bandits? Pfft. Well, let's get it over with." Which one was Vilkas again? The drunk with the brown hair and long beard? No, that wasn't right. He had to be one of the twins that she'd met in passing. One of them, Farkas, was as kindhearted as he was strong. The other... She hadn't spoken to the other one save for when they first met. He was all broody and mysterious and, she hated to admit it, a little intimidating.

* * *

Astrild had to wonder if she had some kind of invisible black cloud hovering over her or something, because everything she did lately just got her into more trouble. Truly, by the end of the day, she wished she'd never gotten out of bed that morning.

It started out normally enough, with the three companions traveling along the road out of Whiterun making light conversation. Well, really it was mostly just Astrild and Skjor bickering. Vilkas didn't say much, but Astrild could tell it was because he was busy keeping track of their surroundings while she and Skjor were sniping at each other like children. She was always a little jealous of Skjor, who Aela spent far more time with when they were children. Astrild was usually left to her own devices and forced to find some way to entertain herself when he was around. He and Aela were always running off into to the woods pretending to be warriors of the wild and leaving her behind. It never really changed as they grew older.

Astrild eventually stopped bickering with Skjor and walked in silence beside Vilkas. It was the first time they'd _properly_ met, and he was a lot less of an ass than she'd first assumed. He was quiet, though, and spoke only when necessary. Regardless, Astrild knew from the way he carried himself and his obvious intelligence that most of the companions probably answered to him without hesitation. Except for Aela and Skjor, at least. They were too headstrong and answered to no one but themselves. Astrild was always terrified it would be the death of them both, because it was only a matter of time until they did something stupid and got in over their heads.

It was hard to worry about such things at the moment, though. The crisp tundra air made her feel alive and ready for action.

"Why did you change your mind and return to Jorrvaskr?" Vilkas asked suddenly. So, Aela _had _told them of her blatant refusal to join the companions when she had come of age three years prior. Astrild frowned and looked up at the ruggedly handsome black-haired Nord that was a good foot and a half taller than her, even though he had half the muscles of his twin. She considered her words carefully before speaking. Something about the warrior's clear blue eyes seemed to see right through her and she had a feeling he could smell bullshit a mile away.

"No where left to turn." She said simply. "It was either this or the Brotherhood. If I have to kill things, I'd rather do it without running from the city guard. There's no glory to be had in murder." It was mostly true, even if she didn't really care about glory. Cleaning house in bandit dens paled horribly in comparison to the adrenaline rush she got from slitting a man's throat, undetected in the middle of a crowd.

"Aye, better than being on the wrong side of the law. But just bear in mind that skittering about like skeevers ill befits warriors of our standing." Vilkas replied meaningfully.

"I hope there's a difference between stealth tactics and sneaking like a rat in your eyes, because obviously I'm not built for rushing in blindly and hoping for the best. The way I see it, no matter how awesome it might look, history isn't going to remember me for a failed frontal assault." Astrild commented, keeping up the banter. It was better than arguing with Skjor, even if it was just another little battle of wills of a different sort.

"There is a difference; you are obviously smart enough to know that. …And hopefully to _remember _it." Vilkas retorted, but gave her a lopsided smile. Skjor was a good distance ahead of them, charging blindly as always. "A failed frontal assault, as you put it, will be the death of him one day." Vilkas added blandly and shook his head. Astrild silently agreed.

When they reached the cave the bandits were set up in near nightfall, they hid crouched behind a rock outcropping. There were three guards outside. One was perched on top of a crude wooden platform watching the surrounding area, another standing at the entrance to the path leading into the cave with his arms folded across his chest, and the last was cooking what smelled like horker on a spit near the cave entrance. All of them were dressed in roughly sewn furs, and none of them were paying proper attention. Skjor had reached his limit of patience and leaped from their hiding spot with a battle cry.

"Victory or Sovngarde!" He shouted as he lunged for the bandit guarding the path and plunged his sword into his chest. Vilkas and Astrild both swore under their breath as they sprang into action. The bandit on the wooden platform fell screaming to his death as one of Astrild's arrows pieced his shoulder and the force of it hurled him over the side. When she and Vilkas reached the cave proper, the guard posted near the entrance was dead in a bloody heap and Skjor had already charged inside.

"That_ idiot._" Astrild hissed in annoyance. "He never changes."

"Aye, we need to hurry. There's no telling what's in there." Vilkas replied. She nodded and led the way.

The entrance to the cave was deserted except for the corpse of an elderly man that had obviously been slain by Skjor, draped across the crudely made table in front of him. Astrild stealthily followed the trail of bodies, picking mushrooms from the corners as she did. She'd lost her entire supply of alchemy ingredients when she was arrested in Helgen, which meant she had nothing decent to poison her arrows with.

About halfway through the cave, she started noticing a trail of blood that wove through the corpses and objects strewn about the floor from the struggle.

"He's wounded." She whispered, looking back to Vilkas who nodded to show that he'd heard. They traveled up a flight of rickety wooden stairs. Carefully, Astrild peeked around the corner only to see more blood and another corpse, this one a woman. She motioned for Vilkas to follow and they climbed another short set of stairs. At the top, they hid behind the wall while Astrild cautiously glanced around the corner. There were live bandits here, about six of them that she could see standing in a circle around something on the floor. She realized it was Skjor when one of the bandits moved away slightly.

She couldn't make out the conversation, but Skjor had to be dead. No one loses that much blood and walks away from it. Either way, he was unmoving and staring up at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

The other thing she noticed in the room was a cage. A wolf of some kind appeared to be held inside. A chain seemed to open it, and ran across the ceiling to almost exactly where she was standing. She could reach it, and maybe it would turn on the bandits. It was worth a shot.

"Skjor is dead." Astrild murmured and nodded toward the chain. "That opens a cage. They've got a wolf in there. It might turn on them."

"Do it." Vilkas whispered in reply, straining to hide the anger in his voice. Astrild was grateful that the man was smart enough not to charge into the center of at least six bandits that had somehow killed one of Jorrvaskr's greatest warriors. Astrild pulled the chain. And gasped in horror.

It wasn't a wolf. It was a werewolf, and it laid waste to the bandits in a flurry of claws and teeth. For a moment, the sounds of screaming and flesh tearing was all that she and Vilkas could hear before there was utter silence. The only thing in Astrild's mind was horror. _Is it real? How?_

"By the divines..." Astrild moaned quietly. It heard her. With lightning fast reflexes, she nocked an arrow and shot the beast straight through the throat. It kept charging. She only just managed to avoid having her head bitten off, but her left arm wasn't so lucky. She howled in agony as razor sharp fangs bit through straight to the bone. Vilkas reacted quickly and brought his greatsword down onto the back of its neck with a sickening crunch. Immediately it let go of Astrild's arm and fell into a lifeless heap. Astrild gasped and ripped a piece of fabric from a cloak one of the dead bandits was wearing. Biting her lip to keep from crying out in pain, she wrapped the wounded arm tightly.

She glanced from the dead werewolf to Skjor's corpse and back to Vilkas.

"So, have you any idea if the legends are true? Do those who are bitten by werewolves become one?" Astrild asked projecting calm even if she was absolutely losing her mind on the inside.

"Let's just make sure the place is clear and get Skjor's remains back to Jorrvaskr." Vilkas replied, obviously having an internal struggle all of his own. Mutely, Astrild picked up her bow from the blood-soaked ground where she'd dropped in the confusion, and led the way through a small tunnel leading outside. There was a lone bandit near a table busy eating a piece of preserved meat that she slew with a single arrow, in spite of the pain it caused her injured arm.

"If you carry Skjor, I'll keep an eye on our surroundings." Astrild said, voice heavy with resignation. Aela would blame her somehow, she just knew it. Her last place to run, and she'd blown it. Well, it was Skjor's own fault but a certain huntress would never see it that way.

* * *

Just as they reached the meadery on the way back to Whiterun, a guardsman came running in their direction. Astrild and Vilkas made uneasy eye contact as the man stopped before them, panting for breath. They could see in the flickering light from the guard's torch that he was covered in blood and what looked suspiciously like ash.

"You are with the companions, yes? Please! We need your help." The guard rasped, clutching at a stitch in his side from running.

"Slow down, kinsman. What's wrong?" Vilkas asked, and laid Skjor's body on the ground at his feet. "My shield sister is injured and one of our brothers has been killed. We will give you what aid we can, but that may not be much." The guard's eyes shifted nervously to Skjor's lifeless form and he choked awkwardly.

"Dragon at the west watch tower! Everyone's dead. I came here looking for reinforcements so I didn't lead it into the city but -!" The guard explained in an obvious state of shock.

"A dragon? Perhaps you should ease off the mead, friend." Vilkas said, raising his eyebrows and cutting the man off mid-sentence. Astrild paled. She could hear the sounds of screams, see bodies littering the street and smell the tinge of burnt flesh in the air. She shook her head and regained her senses.

"No. We've all heard about Helgen being destroyed. I was there. It was a dragon. They're real." She commented bitterly. "We have no chance against that thing. It killed at six Imperial patrols and the Nine know how many Stormcloak prisoners in a matter of minutes. I only just managed to escape with my life."

"Sounds like they need our help then." Vilkas said dismally. Astrild made a sound of agreement.

"Guardsman, I will have to trust you to see to it that this body is taken to Jorrvaskr with honor. We will see what we can do about your dragon." Vilkas said icily. The guard nodded fervently, as Astrild and Vilkas took off running in the direction of the western watchtower.

When they arrived, it was in ruins and surrounded by several small brush fires that were still smoldering. The stench of death was heavy in the air.

"You look for survivors. I'll see if there's any kind of trail it left that we might be able to use to track it." Astrild suggested. Vilkas went off without a word. If there were survivors, he'd be better suited to deal with them since he said some idea of how to treat wounds. It had been Vilkas that ended up digging the arrowhead out of Astrild's shoulder, though she'd ignored his existence the entire time because Skjor was also there telling her off for being dumb enough to get shot at in the first place. Perhaps she and Vilkas might have gotten off on the right foot if Skjor hadn't made their meeting so tense and awkward.

There was no sign of any kind of trail, unless Astrild counted the destruction left in its wake. Around the back of the tower, she covered her nose and mouth to block out the scent of burning flesh. There were at least ten guards dead there and most of them were burnt to a crisp. She knelt down to examine the body of one that didn't quite look dead when Vilkas came running in her direction.

"Get inside the tower – now." He hissed. Questioningly, she glanced at him while she felt the guard's neck for a pulse. There was none. "It's still here somewhere. There's a few guardsmen left inside, one of them told me that they sent someone out to look and he got carried off. We need to come up with some sort of strategy."

Wordlessly, with her heart pounding in her chest, Astrild followed Vilkas into the tower. There were four guards in there, two of them were badly injured – one with both legs broken and the other with nasty burns. The other two were fine, but in shock.

"Listen, we need to kill this thing." Astrild said, not knowing what came over her. "We're going to need you two to help, so get your wits about you. We need a way to lure it out of hiding. Suggestions?"

"I'll go." The man with the burns said weakly.

"Are you out of your mind, Bjorn?" One of the uninjured guards asked incredulously.

"Nay. I can hardly walk and only a fool would believe that I will recover from these wounds. They'll be the death of me, and I'd rather die a true Nord than a milk drinker. I go to Sovngarde this night." He replied with utter conviction.

Astrild nodded, feeling nauseous. "Go then, we'll strike as soon as he shows himself." She said. Vilkas helped the man to his feet, and he handed his bow and arrows to the Companion. She could tell Vilkas wasn't exactly pleased with the plan, but he obviously couldn't come up with anything better.

"You'll need those." He said hoarsely and stumbled out into the night. Vilkas, Astrild and the two uninjured guards crept behind him with their bows drawn. As soon as the injured Nord made it to the bottom of the stairs, the dragon struck light lightning out of absolutely nowhere. At least the poor man's death came on swift wings. The guards' arrows lodged themselves in its scaly throat and Astrild aimed for the joint at the base of its left wing.

It roared in anger, yet what should have been a guttural sound seemed like odd harshly spoken words to Astrild's ears. She shook her head as Vilkas' arrow followed hers and penetrated the scaly hide. The dragon roared again and flapped its wing uselessly. It came at them with teeth and claws as long as swords. Astrild managed to dodge and dropped her bow accidentally, but Vilkas was thrown bodily over a ruined wall behind them. Righting herself, Astrild searched for her bow, but it was splintered in half beneath the dragon's foot.

Swearing, she looked for a weapon and picked up Vilkas' great sword. She could barely lift it, but it was all she had. He wasn't dead at least, she could hear him cursing like a sailor on the other side of the rubble. The guards loosed another volley of arrows – both them landed true to their mark straight through the dragon's eyes, effectively blinding it. Seizing the opportunity, Astrild put all of her weight behind a mighty swing that nearly severed the dragon's head from its body, and sent her sprawling from the momentum. It was enough. It cut through the beast's throat and it thrashed about violently soiling the ground with its blood before it finally stilled.

Panting due to pain and exhaustion, Astrild flopped down onto the rubble and took a few steadying breaths. Behind her, Vilkas let out a low whistle of amazement as he dragged himself to his feet. If he hadn't just seen a tiny, barely five foot tall Nord woman slay a dragon with his sword that probably weighed as much as her, he never would have believed it.

With a grunt that was equal parts pain and exasperation, he grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet.

"Let's not do that again." Astrild said meekly and gripped her injured arm tightly. The filthy rags she'd wrapped it with were soaked through with blood.

"Not this night, at least." Vilkas replied vacantly.

"Can we go home now?" Astrild whined sarcastically. Vilkas nodded and they fell into step behind the three guards who were already on their way back, two of them supporting the one with the broken legs.

"Wait… What's going on?" Astrild cried and whirled around to see that the dragon's corpse had suddenly gone up in flames. Somehow she felt drawn to it like a moth to a lantern.

Vilkas didn't have an answer.

The last thing Astrild remembered before passing out cold was feeling like there was molten iron flowing through her veins. That… And a strange reptilian voice calling to her. '_Dovahkiin, no!' _it said in what seemed like both shock and derision.


End file.
